Hannah: He released it last night during his concert. It’s on YouTube.
Tess: I’m sure it’s good.
Hannah: You’ve already heard it, haven’t you? I listened to the lyrics. It’s totally about you.
Tess: You have too much free time on your hands. Pick a new hobby.
Hannah: You’re impossible. Maybe you should call him.
Tess: Maybe you should mind your own love life. How’s that going for you?
Hannah: Good night, Contessa Eloise.
Tess: I wish you had a fucked up name like mine.
Hannah: Hannah Quinn isn’t that great.
Tess: At least Sadie chose nice names for her kids.
Hannah: Lucky munchkins. Good night, T.
Hannah: Night, H.
Once I’m ready for bed, I set my music. I imagine Gage singing all night long just for me. The same way he did back when we were going out. My soul aches for his. It’s hard to be far away. I continued to live my life with an open mind and an open heart. But I know that it might take a thousand years for me to forget him. I doubt I’ll ever be done loving him.
Three
Gage
I grunted the moment I spotted a group of kids setting up their instruments on the poorly constructed stage. This dive was a public hazard. I needed to look for a new job. Putting up with “Sound Saturday,” as Joe, my boss, called his latest idea, was fucking painful. None of these bands had talent. All the patrons always left as soon as the band showed up. Joe didn’t screen them, he just had a piece of paper where people could scribble their name on the board next to the restrooms.
The Silver Moon, a bar close by, had a similar event. It was on Fridays, but to get a spot there, the bands had to audition on Wednesday morning. I auditioned once, a couple of years ago. Nothing much came of it. The scouts weren’t interested in us as a group. They only wanted me. Jacob Decker said he could use me as a solo act. He was looking for the next Billy Joel, Carlos Santana, or Peter Gabriel.
But I couldn’t leave my guys hanging. What a joke! Those assholes left me when they got a better offer.
“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to serve alcohol to minors,” Camden, my brother, said, looking around the bar.
“Why are you here again?”
“Other than free booze?” he asked, lifting his beer.
“You’re going to have to pay for it,” I warned him. “This is where I work. I don’t own the place.”
He ignored my warning and continued “I heard that the reality show, Band or Bust, is holding auditions next week.”
“I’d need a band for that.” I glared at him.
“Then you should go back to the Silver Moon and perform as a solo act. They’ll snatch you right away.”
“It’s okay, man,” I said, cutting him off because I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. My life was already shitty. “I’ll find another way to make it.”
“Pursue your dreams, man. I hate seeing you waste your talent.”
“Like you do? Please. Corporate America’s sucking you into the black hole.”
“I’m using my degree. There’s no shame in growing up,” my brother said.
He had no right to speak ill of dreams. I remember when he wanted to be a professional football player when we were kids. These days, the only time he goes to the stadium is when the Seahawks are playing. Cam works for some global corporation from dawn ‘til dusk—every fucking day.
“Are you telling me that I’m not a grown up?”
“You could be doing something else.”
“Like teaching?” I looked at him with a pinched expression. “Oh wait, that is my day job, but it doesn’t pay well, and it’s not as fucking fulfilling as people say.”
“The only way you’ll be happy is if you pursue your real passion.”
“Do you have any idea how many fucking demos I send monthly? I owe thousands in student loans. This week, I hit a new low.”
“What happened?” He wrinkled a brow.
“I’m moving back home until I can find somewhere more affordable,” I explained.
“What happened to your place with Marti?”
I snorted at the mention of my ex-girlfriend. We’d dated on and off since high school. The first time we broke up was because I’d chosen to move to Boston. Berklee was one of the best music schools in the nation, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to attend it.
The last time we got back together was a little over a year ago. I was living in Seattle but looking for a new apartment. Marti was there too, searching for housing in the area. We moved in together and with our combined salaries, we were able to afford a decent apartment. That was until last Saturday when she decided the weather was getting too cold for her to stay.
“She left.”
His lips pressed together in disapproval. “Again?”
“She tried to convince me to move to Austin,” I explained. ‘Where the music scene is huge, and the weather is warmer,’ she told me last week.”
“Seriously, she fucking left you for warmer weather?”
I shrugged, “I guess. She also accused me of holding onto childish dreams.” I wiped the counter for the thousandth time. “At least she didn’t leave me hanging with the full rent like last time.”
After graduating from Berklee, I moved to New York City to attend Julliard. Coincidentally, she enrolled in Hamilton College, a small school in the city. She moved in with me, but after one semester, decided that our life was too boring and went back home. Thank fuck we leased a place in Queens instead of Manhattan like she suggested.
“Do you think it’s childish?” Cam’s question stumped me.
Was it? Childish? No. Impossible? Maybe. It was frustrating trying to hold onto something so abstract. Working on a salary was financially rewarding but not spiritually fulfilling. Trying to make it in a world where my art was subject to approval from strangers felt hopeless at times.
“It’s just impossible to make it without a fucking band,” I summarized my thoughts.
“Go solo. You’re so fucking talented,” he repeated. “Gage Rodin sounds a lot better than The Gage Rodin Band. You’re not Dave Matthews, dude.”
“Maybe I could get another loan and go back to school. Study entertainment law. With my minor in music business management, I’d be rich in no time.”
“There’s no soul in that.”
“And what you do has soul?”
“It’s okay. I’m learning a lot. I might branch off into doing something else in a few years. You never know. YOLO.”
“Please tell me you didn’t say YOLO, Cam.” I chuckled, pulling out my phone and texting. “Easton, Cody and Keane are going to eat you alive.”
“Instead of moving back with Mom and Dad, move in with me,” he offered. “We have the spare room, and Keane’s never around.”
“There’s no fucking way I can afford to rent a room in your mansion.”
Cam lived by 4th and Stewart, in the heart of downtown Seattle in one of those buildings that had its own shops, gym, pool, and even a concierge. I could barely pay my utility bills on my salary.
“It’s not a mansion, it’s a penthouse, and you can pay the utilities.” He growled at me. “Look, you’re always helping us. Maybe not financially, but you’re there when we need you. Let me do this for you.”
He wasn’t wrong—I did everything out of love for my family. If my brothers asked me for a kidney, I’d do it without a question.
“What’s the catch?” I crossed my arms. “Again, there’s no free beer. I don’t own this place.”
“There’s no catch, except,” he paused and leaned forward on the bar. “Once you’re famous, you’re going to invite me to the awards shows and parties.”
I laughed, rolling my eyes.
“Fine, but I’ll buy the groceries too. When can I move in?” I sighed, thankful and yet defeated.
At twenty-seven, I should have my shit together.
“This weekend works. We c
an get Easton to help.”
When he mentioned his twin, a pang of nostalgia hit me deep in the gut. Everything was better when we were younger—and stuck together.
“Do you think Keane would want to join my band?”
“What band?”
“I need a band.”
“Keane is busy saving the world or whatever the fuck he does.”
Keane was an FBI agent. He was gone for long intervals of time. Of my four brothers, he’s the one I trusted the most. Whenever I needed something, he’d say yes without hesitation, and I would do the same for him.
“We’re not kids anymore, dude. Music is your thing, not ours. He’d rather be hunting most-wanted criminals than join your non-existent band.”
I glared at him but didn’t say a word. So much for being supportive. The Rodin crew was more fun when we were growing up. I sighed and walked to the back room to see if we had any empty boxes. I decided to start packing my shit that same night. Fucking Marti, she was always screwing with my head and my finances. I shouldn’t have taken her back again.
“Dwight texted they just parked. Be ready, fuckers. This is going to be big!” A guy yelled, and I stopped not knowing if he was drunk or just excited.
“Those kids aren’t twenty-one,” Cam stated the obvious.
“I’m not responsible for the tables.”
Camden didn’t need to know that I put more ice in their drinks than alcohol. “Look, if Joe doesn’t give a shit about his bar, why should I? One of these days they’re going to take away his liquor license.”
“We have to impress her,” another guy said.
“Who are they trying to impress?” I asked, intrigued because the kids were about to come in their pants with excitement.
Cam observed them, puzzled by the way those clowns were behaving.
“A girl that Dwight guy wants to bang?”
“‘Bang,’ Cam? Seriously?” I frowned. “First you’re shouting YOLO, and now you’re banging. Are you thirteen?”
“Shhh, she’s here. Act cool, fuckers.” Another one of those guys screamed, as if fangirling over Lady Gaga.
Cam and I looked toward the entrance. He seemed out of place, wearing a white button-down shirt and a pair of black slacks.
“She’s not legal,” Cam said immediately. “Jailbait.”
“She might be old enough to vote,” I suggested and hoped, because man, she was smoking hot.
She had reddish-blonde hair, a cute turned up nose, pouty mouth, and a tempting body. A heat stirred in my gut. There’s something about her that pulled my attention toward her. It was impossible to tear my eyes away from those hypnotic amber eyes that were taking in the place all at once. She looked lost, and yet she exuded self-confidence. I wanted to get to know her. No, I needed to know her. It’s like her soul was calling mine. I could hear a faint voice saying, you’re finally home.
Four
Tess
Ernest Hemingway used to say that you make your own luck. Obviously, the man didn’t understand Karma. I believed in it more than I believed in God. I witnessed it smack people in the face. It got me often for sins I committed in the past. There’s no escaping its wrath. I was at the top of Karma’s list. My parents fucked up my existence. Sure, it’s immature to blame my bad luck on them, but I wasn’t making this shit up. I had proof.
As I entered, the women at the bar looked at me jealously. Like them, I never would have imagined me going out with Dwight Rogers.
Tall, muscular, handsome, Dwight Rogers.
He was the heartthrob of Greensborough Academy, one of the most prestigious private schools in Seattle. Seventeen-year-old Tess would have been so happy for us. We finally scored the captain of the basketball team—three years later.
I only accepted his invitation because the guy didn’t seem to care much about relationships. I was about to return to school in San Diego, and I needed a distraction. Hook ups like this were best for me. I never got close. I never opened my heart. Love hurt. My heart wasn’t ready to face that kind of pain. My biological mother had abused me for a long time. My therapist recommended that I date cautiously.
I avoided dating. It was simpler.
Dwight turned to look at me. His smile was warm, inviting. His gaze traveled down my bare legs beneath my short skirt. He licked his lips, savoring the little treat he planned on tasting when the night was over. Maybe I’d let him, maybe I wouldn’t. I wasn’t a virgin, but I also wasn’t about to open my legs to a douche who decided yesterday morning while I was picking up my daily coffee that I was finally worthy of his attention after years of knowing each other.
I scanned the place, knowing there were many other guys I could choose from, if I actually wanted to fuck. Dwight squeezed my fingers tighter, leaned into me and said, “We’ll go to your place after I’m done.”
I wondered if he paid attention when I told him I live out of town and that I was staying with my parents?
I pulled away from his grasp. I watched him cautiously. What was I thinking when I agreed to come out with him? Yesterday, when he approached me asking to join him, I had no doubts. But the loud music, along with the heavy scent of alcohol and sweat weighed on my decision. I often behaved recklessly, but I tried not to act stupid. There was this feeling that prickled under my skin. It wasn’t safe; he wasn’t safe. As we walked along the bar toward the small stage I tried to convince myself that I was wrong. I told myself that he invited me because he wanted to hang out with me.
I let it play for a few moments, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “You’re a pretty cool chick,” he said, leaning forward giving me a kiss on my neck.
It didn’t feel right. Actually, the touch of his lips against my skin made me want to bolt. My suspicion wasn’t in vain. To my left, a small group of his friends stood around a small table, drinking and laughing.
“D,” Bruce said. “You’re late. We still have to connect the instruments.”
“Soon we’ll have roadies to do that shit,” Dwight responded, shaking Bruce’s hand and then clapping his back.
Great, he’s in a band, I thought. This was his concert. God, give me patience.
“Hi, Tess,” Bruce acknowledged me quickly, turning back to Dwight. “Dude, you brought her.”
He let out an exaggerated holler and pumped his fist in the air in triumph. Everything became clear. Bringing me into this joint had been a group effort. Dwight wasn’t interested in me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw silhouettes climbing onto the stage. I glanced over my shoulder searching for a friendly face. There were only strangers drinking and chatting. Dwight followed Bruce who handed him a microphone once he reached the top of the stage.
“Babe,” Dwight said, staring at me. “This is for you.”
It wasn’t for me. Not really. It was for my father. Kaden Hades. The front man of the multiple award winning and internationally famous band, Killing Hades. Dwight planned on using me, like my mother did. She did it to get to my father. This wasn’t new though. Dwight was one of many guys who had tried to ‘date’ me to meet Daddy.
One of Dwight’s friends offered me his drink. I shook my head and walked away. I strode toward the bartender whose deep, dark green eyes were on me. They were as green as forest pools or springtime ferns. The kind of green that signals hope and new life.
He was gorgeous. Messy, dirty blond hair, sun-kissed skin, scruff on his chiseled jaw.
“What can I get you?” His voice was intense, deep and sexy.
How about you, to go?
“Dirty martini,” I requested.
I jolted as someone grabbed my elbow and pulled me back. I lost my footing and before I could fall, the other guy by the bar caught me.
“What’s your problem?” The bartender had already jumped the bar and pushed Bruce.
“Tess,” he called me trying to appease me, but the bartender shielded me with his tall and strong body. “We need you to come over and listen to our set.”
“Don’t you ever touc
h me,” I snapped, pushing my shoulders back and glaring at him.
“Fine, but you won’t even hear us from there.”
“Not far enough,” I mumbled and tapped my ears twice. “They work perfectly.”
I made a scissor motion with my fingers. “Run along to your people.”
“You’re such a bitch,” he complained. “I swear, this better be worth it.”
“Thank you,” I turned to the guy who broke my fall. Then, I looked at the bartender, he was standing a little too close to me. I could smell a hint of sandalwood and lime on him. But it was his expression that grabbed my complete attention. He glared at Bruce, his nostrils flared, and his face was red.
“It’s okay,” I said, touching his muscular arm. A surge of electricity zapped my entire body when we touched. His eyes found mine, and the intensity of his gaze left me breathless.
“He shouldn’t have touched you like that.” His voice boomed inside my chest. My entire body vibrated.
Whatever it was that he brought out in me wasn’t good. I didn’t like it. Lust, attraction, desire. I’d never felt those things toward anyone before.
“I had it under control,” I said casually, moving my hand away from his arm and breaking our connection.
“He seems like the kind of guy who won’t take no for an answer.”
I snorted. “There was a rumor around school about him,” I agreed with him. “Though, I wouldn’t know. We didn’t hang out back then—or even now, really.”
“Why are you hanging out with them then?”
“Obviously, I wasn’t thinking,” I controlled my volume. He wasn’t my enemy. Still, it wasn’t any of his fucking business. “I guess because dating Dwight back in high school was a big deal.”
I bit my lip, stopped myself from saying more. “Anyway, can I get a drink?”
“A dirty martini?” he asked and stared at me for a bit. The anger in his eyes had disappeared. There was some humor in those mesmerizing green eyes. “Nah, that’s not your type of drink.”
My One Despair Page 2